Watched Winter Light last night, and then most of the Peter Cowie featurette, and I wanted to get some feedback from other members. In the featurette Cowie states that when Tomas goes ahead with the service at the end of the film, despite having an audience, it's Bergman's sign of optimism at the end of the film. I couldn't disagree more. For me, that Tomas forges ahead even though he's in the midst of a spiritual crisis is the greatest hypocrisy of all: how can he continue to minister to anybody when he can't minister to himself? Especially in the light of Algot figuring out the real meaning of the passion story on his own, Tomas' role in the community as a spiritual leader now seems even more pointless. Any thoughts on this?

I took the ending as a sign of optimism as well. Although Tomas has lost faith in the church and God, others have not lost faith in him and the church, as they continue to listen to his prayers and speeches as the minister of the church. Even though Tomas has not had a revelation about his role as a spiritual advisor by the end of the film, the fact that others are still willing to listen to him and have faith in Tomas is a starting point to a "happy" and more optimistic ending.

I really enjoyed the ending being optimistic, as it significantly contrasts with the dark and cold general mood of the film. I would have to say that I prefer The Silence over Winter Light, though.

He's just going through the motions, falling back on ritual, the same cold removal from the reality of the situation that rendered him incapable of helping von Sydow earlier in the film. It's a highly pessimistic ending, as it suggests that the day's events were a lesson unlearned by the close of the film, and nothing will ultimately change

That's interesting. I've always taken that look on his face as a sign that he doesn't believe a word of what he's saying, and is sickened by that realization. I've been meaning to revisit Winter Light, this motivates me a bit.

He's just going through the motions, falling back on ritual, the same cold removal from the reality of the situation that rendered him incapable of helping von Sydow earlier in the film. It's a highly pessimistic ending, as it suggests that the day's events were a lesson unlearned by the close of the film, and nothing will ultimately change

I have nothing to add to this succinct analysis. This is how I read the film.

He's just going through the motions, falling back on ritual, the same cold removal from the reality of the situation that rendered him incapable of helping von Sydow earlier in the film. It's a highly pessimistic ending, as it suggests that the day's events were a lesson unlearned by the close of the film, and nothing will ultimately change

I don't think it's totally pessimisitic as Bergman sets Thomas' empty ritual against Marta's more spiritually honest prayer. She is, after all, a kind of Job-figure (the boils, for example). Despite her trials, and despite the verbal degradation Thomas inflicts on her, Marta is not ground into emptiness and despair, but finds hope enough for a meaningful attempt at communication with God--she passes her test where Thomas fails at his (whether they are spiritual tests or tests of one's humanity is up to you). I think the movie's rather balanced between pessimism and optimism.

To me, Marta praying at the end wasn't to get closer to God, but closer to Tomas who has thoroughly rejected her. As she writes in her letter, she really doesn't understand Tomas' faith or rituals but plays along in order to be near him, and try to understand him. Overall, I found very little in the film to be optimistic about. A benevolent God is absent throughout the film, particularly when he is needed most.

To me, Marta praying at the end wasn't to get closer to God, but closer to Tomas who has thoroughly rejected her. As she writes in her letter, she really doesn't understand Tomas' faith or rituals but plays along in order to be near him, and try to understand him. Overall, I found very little in the film to be optimistic about. A benevolent God is absent throughout the film, particularly when he is needed most.

Who prays to be closer to a man who admits his faith is completely gone? Earlier, yes, that's why she might have prayed; at the end of the movie, no. There is no longer any reason for her to pray, since she clearly cannot get to Thomas either through religion or through human feeling; and she cleary has no remaining illusions about him or his religion or their chances at romance. Yet she prays anyway. There is absolutely a change: now she prays for herself. It's essential to understand the Job structure underlying her character.

That's an interesting take on it Mr. S, but what holds me back from completely embracing it is, what does Marta think she's praying to? After all that has gone on during those few hours, what would compel her (or anyone) to pray to God, when he hasn't made himself known during the most crucial moments in these characters lives? She noted in her letter that her family has always known love and warmth but she found none of it in Tomas' faith. What does she see now that she didn't see before?

After all that has gone on during those few hours, what would compel her (or anyone) to pray to God, when he hasn't made himself known during the most crucial moments in these characters lives?

Difficult to know in anyone's case, but I would like to think faith (in what, and how much is purely Christian, can be debated), since that's precisely what Thomas lacks. I don't mean to emphasize Martha's piety, but I think the gesture to pray, especially given "all that has gone on during those few hours," and given its private and personal aspect against the public sham of Thomas' ceremony, indicates some kind of affirmation of value on her part. You ask who would pray after all she has been through? Well, doesn't the mere fact that she can say something? She is a Job-figure: she suffers cruelly but does not give in to despair.

Watched "Through a Glass Darkly" with wife (is it OK to use that term now-a-days?) last evening. Somehow had missed it when it originally came out, though I recall seeing most of his other films. We were really not impressed with the film. A bit of web-searching produced a review by Dan Schneider that perfectly expresses my feelings as to the film's weaknesses. I'm guessing that the subject matter (or its treatment) and the acting may have been considered strong stuff back when the film was released, but now, for me, it all seems very dated, particularly the overacting by Harriet Andersson. Will shortly be watching the other two films of the trilogy, hoping for a more positive reaction.

He's just going through the motions, falling back on ritual, the same cold removal from the reality of the situation that rendered him incapable of helping von Sydow earlier in the film. It's a highly pessimistic ending, as it suggests that the day's events were a lesson unlearned by the close of the film, and nothing will ultimately change

This is interesting, because couldn't what you say be true but interpreted differently? Couldn't he be going through the motions at the end - even if he doesn't believe in the Church or God anymore - because he learned a lesson from the Sydow incident? Specifically, that what he brings to the community is very important and he is as much a symbol of hope to the congregation than a distant (silent) God. He is their 'winter light', and the suicide reminded him of his duty?

Still very pessimistic and sad. I have no idea how Bergman could claim with a straight face that the end of Winter Light is optimistic.

In my opinion it is optimistic. The casual conversation with the hunchback Algot is the turning point in the film. Algot's lesson that Christ's real suffering was not his physical torture, but instead the realization that everything He (Christ) had ever said might be a lie allows Tomas to break through his gridlock of spiritual doubt and self pity and accept with grace the cards that fate (God) has delt him.

Algot's words allow him Tomas to transcend his own feelings of impotency and helplessness, now understanding faith is only faith and not certainty or knowledge.

He is going through the motions that before hand were empty ritual, but ironically now though in an empty church the ritual is at long last truly authentic. Marta recognizes this and joins in prayer not because she herself cares about praying (she has always been a non believer) , but because his sincerity is intoxicating and joyful for her to behold. What she sees in the chapel is Tomas filled with hope and ready to engage again with the world, not the wounded, guarded man she has known for the last few years. His ritual is imbibed with hope and sincerity, precisely because no one is there to listen to it. It is an overture to God. The closing scene depicts a man finally at peace himself. At least for the time being...

What she sees in the chapel is Tomas filled with hope and ready to engage again with the world, not the wounded, guarded man she has known for the last few years. His ritual is imbibed with hope and sincerity, precisely because no one is there to listen to it. It is an overture to God.

What Marta sees is the opposite: a man emptied of all pretension to goodness, compassion, human feeling, all of it. I don't know how anyone could call Thomas hopeful and prepared to engage with the world after he deliberately destroys his relationship with Marta, and all of her hope and love for him, in the schoolroom confessional right before the Church service. That whole scene was about Thomas finally admitting his own emptiness, an emptiness that is reinforced by precisely that silence in the Church, God's silence, the silence of a father who listens but says nothing.

BB wrote:

The casual conversation with the hunchback Algot is the turning point in the film. Algot's lesson that Christ's real suffering was not his physical torture, but instead the realization that everything He (Christ) had ever said might be a lie allows Tomas to break through his gridlock of spiritual doubt and self pity and accept with grace the cards that fate (God) has delt him.

But he has not learned to accept anything (the Job role is filled by Marta, whose prayer at the end is more accepting of circumstance than anything shown by Thomas). Why would he push Marta away and try to debase her emotionally if he had accepted where his life has come to, let alone accept it "with grace?" Thomas still cannot accept the loss of his wife and the silence of God on the matter. Max von Sydow's death is a reenactment of Thomas' own loss and inability to find an answer for his grief in the God that is supposed to love him. Another death, another silence (or a white noise, if you prefer, ala the water drowning out any sound in the body-identification sequence), which he feels helpless to remedy. If he had truly accepted all of this he would have sought comfort and happiness with Marta, who was offering it, rather than resenting her and rejecting her like he did. At the end, Marta and Thomas both engage in rituals; but Thomas goes through the motions of a ritual he does day in, day out, without variation, for the public benefit only. Marta's ritual is private, personal, and because she never does it, none of its spiritual content and value has been rubbed out by habit. The prayer of a person who never prays always strikes one as more charged and more meaningful than a prayer made out of long habit. That is, I think, where lies the optimism Bergman mentioned: that Marta could suffer all that she has suffered, physical and emotional, and at the end still be capable of an affirming, human gesture (whether it is genuinely Christian or not makes no difference).

BB wrote:

He is going through the motions that before hand were empty ritual, but ironically now though in an empty church the ritual is at long last truly authentic.

If the ritual suddenly meant something to Thomas, Bergman would have shown it. As it stands, Bjornstrand looks no different than any priest doing the same ritual.

The casual conversation with the hunchback Algot is the turning point in the film.

This observation nails it. Bergman has said that he thought of Algot as an angel, looking out for Tomas' well being. Also, I think it's instructive to note how Bergman came to find the ending for his film: he visited several rural church services with his father and at one of them, there was only a handful of people waiting, the priest came in late, announced he was sick and would only do a service and no communion -- Bergman's father got angry and went to the churchwarden -- minutes later it was announced that there would be communion after all; then later Bergman's father came out dressed in white vestments and spoke the "Holy, holy, holy Lord God Almighty..." line, and --

Ingmar Bergman wrote:

Thus it was that I discovered the ending to Winter Light and a rule I was to follow from then on: irrespective of anything that happens to you in life, you hold your communion.

Optimistic? Pessimistic? For me, it depends on the day I watch it. It could go either way. Gunnar Bjornstrand 's amazing face -- sometimes it looks like a glimmer of hope, other times he's in a world of shit.

I don't know how anyone could call Thomas hopeful and prepared to engage with the world after he deliberately destroys his relationship with Marta, and all of her hope and love for him, in the schoolroom confessional right before the Church service.

As you suggest, this as well as other scenes you mention precede the character's turning point with Algot. It's always darkest just before the dawn...

Mr_sausage wrote:

At the end, Marta and Thomas both engage in rituals; but Thomas goes through the motions of a ritual he does day in, day out, without variation, for the public benefit only. Marta's ritual is private, personal, and because she never does it, none of its spiritual content and value has been rubbed out by habit.

You see this. I see two people in prayer together.

Mr_sausage wrote:

The prayer of a person who never prays always strikes one as more charged and more meaningful than a prayer made out of long habit.

I agree, but to my eye's (and I believe Marta's) this is exactly what Tomas is doing. Substitute "never prays" in the above quote with "never prays with sincerity"Look at it this way... a musician shows up to a gig and only one person's in the audience. Does our hero quit saying "this is a meaningless farce! I'll come back when there's some people to sing to." Or does he sit down and perform for the simple joy of creating music. This to me is why the film ends on an optimistic note. It's a very abrupt end incidentally that suggests that while the film is over, we have just seen these two characters at the start of something new.

Galen Young wrote:

Optimistic? Pessimistic? For me, it depends on the day I watch it.

Agreed! I look forward to watching it again.

Last edited by BB on Wed Sep 02, 2009 3:58 pm, edited 1 time in total.

At the end, Marta and Thomas both engage in rituals; but Thomas goes through the motions of a ritual he does day in, day out, without variation, for the public benefit only. Marta's ritual is private, personal, and because she never does it, none of its spiritual content and value has been rubbed out by habit.

You see this. I see two people in prayer together.

I just rewatched the end of the movie (which I had misremembered slightly--I thought Marta bowed her head in silent prayer while Thomas began to read out the service), and there's this moment, when the bell signalling communion begins to ring, where Marta suddenly gets to her knees and asks "if only we could feel safe, and dare to show each other tenderness. If only we could have some truth to believe in...if only we could believe." The 'prayer' is shot as a close up of her right profile, and in the midst of it Bergman cuts to a shot of Thomas with his eyes closed that matches the framing of Marta's face as her voice plays over the image. They appear to be connected in the same questioning of our capacity for genuine feeling at this moment, so Bergman does seem to be suggesting what you say above. Although perhaps the prayer is directed at Thomas rather than herself, and the cut connects her words to his predicament and signals their true subject, instead of being put into Thomas' mind. It would make sense: she has just been tempted by the organist into giving up (the organist standing in, I suppose, for Job's neighbours, who tempt him to despair), so her reaction to pray and to ask about the very things Thomas obviously lacks, and which she has been trying to cultivate in him, also suggests, as does her choice to stay for service rather than leave, that she rather than Thomas has passed the test, has retained her capacity for fellow feeling.

Anyway, the prayer precedes the service (the latter is not a prayer anyway), and the service becomes a chilling irony when Thomas repeats the words: "Holy, Holy, Holy is the lord of Ghosts. The whole Earth is full of His glory." The words of the service clash against the words we just heard from Marta, and become emptied of meaning because of it.

BB wrote:

As you suggest, this as well as other scenes you mention precede the character's turning point with Algot. It's always darkest just before the dawn...

Perhaps. Algot's point is that Christ's physical sufferings were nothing compared to the anguish of doubt, of feeling alone, of being confronted with God's silence (he speaks of Christ's moment of doubt on the cross). He ends on that note, and Thomas, with an agonized face, replies "yes." Has Algot given him a crucial epiphany, or has he even more brutally reinforced what Thomas already fears most: being empty and alone? It seems like the latter.

So, having pushed away Marta, having been told feeling abandoned is indeed the worst of all possible sufferings, and having asked God if human connection and fellow feeling is at all possible, the confrontation of an empty, silent church with the hollow words of God's glory on his tongue...I don't know, I'm not feeling it. Especially since Bergman does not include Thomas and Marta in the same shot during the service, and doesn't match their eyelines in the cut from her to Thomas beginning the ceremony.

It might be optimistic, it might not, but I still side with Marta at the end: she's the only one trying to really make connections throughout the film, the only one not giving in to despair or bile, and tho' Bergman collocates their faces during her prayer, it is her words that we hear vocalized, not Thomas'. I think you're overstating the spiritual connection between the two of them at the end. If there is any hope for Thomas, it is because of Marta's continued humanity rather than a spiritual epiphany on his part.

Just edited some confusing mistakes in my previous post, because I did't use the "quote" button correctly.

Mr_sausage wrote:

If there is any hope for Thomas, it is because of Marta's continued humanity rather than a spiritual epiphany on his part.

I agree, without her Tomas is probably doomed as they're clearly meant for one and other. Rather than a "spiritual epiphany" my impression was the conversation with Algot gave much needed legitimacy to Tomas' terrible spiritual doubts. Essentially Algot tells Tomas that the CEO of the business he's in, the founder of their religion, (Christ) had the same God-awful problem Tomas has. Thus it's "O.K." I took this to be the most vindicating and comforting thing anyone has ever said to Tomas in quite some time, perhaps ever. As opposed to Marta's comments which (if I remember correctly) always seemed to be more along the lines of "why do you believe this junk anyway?" That's why my memory/experience of the film was of Tomas finally conducting mass in a legitimate, honest, and empowered way. The happy ending I see is that of a newly empowered (perhaps enlightened?) man who now has the chance to engage with life. And the first thing on that to-do-list is engage with the love poor Marta has to offer.

Essentially Algot tells Tomas that the CEO of the business he's in, the founder of their religion, (Christ) had the same God-awful problem Tomas has. Thus it's "O.K." I took this to be the most vindicating and comforting thing anyone has ever said to Tomas in quite some time, perhaps ever.

Sorry there's no substance to this post, but I figured after you'd put in the effort in I should at least tell you that the above is very interesting, worth thinking about anyways, and I'll keep it in mind next time I watch the film.

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I’m not sure what to do with that last scene, which I’d completely erased from my memory. Someone convince me to read it insincerely, because actively reading it as ironic doesn’t really gibe with Bergman’s general approach.

For as great a film as this is, that last scene is just a mistake if sincere and atypical for Bergman if not (though I see no evidence in the film to support reading it as such, other than that it doesn't fit with anything else as presented in the picture)

I viewed this film for the first time a few nights ago and loved it for all the qualities that make the best Bergman films so intriguing, beautiful to behold and memorable. I'm not the best at offering critique that hasn't already been asserted well by others, but as someone with professional experience of working with people with schizophrenia, schizo-affective disorder and a broad range of other mental illnesses, was impressed with the depiction of delusions and depression in this film, especially given its era. Other healthcare professionals might take issue with specifics pertaining to verisimilitude but as regards the poetry of cinema, I felt the depiction of Karin's condition and how it affected her relationship with the devoted Martin was as sensitive as it was engaging. And again, it appeared in my opinion to be a fine aesthetic expression of what patients have described.

Could you put forth the ending, I don't know if I still have my copy to review it.

I do remember from watching this in the context of the trilogy it was the least successful for me. It lacks the lack of dialogue from Silence which I find to be a major plus since a lot of Bergman's dialogue comes off as redundant up to the '70s. Differently Winter Light is so direct that it comes as a shock due to how naked the film is and I'm glad Bergman ran with that directness in some of his later films like Scenes from a Marriage. Through a Glass Darkly is a great movie of course, but wrapping (as Bergman so often does) legitimate concerns and fears in a metaphor with real madness at its center doesn't entirely work for me.

I’m not sure what to do with that last scene, which I’d completely erased from my memory. Someone convince me to read it insincerely, because actively reading it as ironic doesn’t really gibe with Bergman’s general approach.

For as great a film as this is, that last scene is just a mistake if sincere and atypical for Bergman if not (though I see no evidence in the film to support reading it as such, other than that it doesn't fit with anything else as presented in the picture)

I seem to remember Robin Wood really hating that finale too. And it might have been Björnstrand's monologue that prompted Bunuel to say something along lines of "Bergman can't keep on making films like this" i.e. trying to solve the question of the existence of God by making movies. It reads like simple wish-fulfillment to me.

I'm interested in whether anyone has something to say about the film's indebtedness to Chekhov's The Seagull? I read in some footnote somewhere that Bergman was directing it for the stage at the time but it's easy enough to see on its own. At any rate, I always felt TaGD to be a really pivotal film for Bergman's development and perhaps a dose of chekhovian "plotlessness" was what he needed at the time (and/or the influence of the various European new waves at the time)? Chekhov's supposed to have said of Ibsen that "in life it's never like that" meaning his plots and characters are too "neat" and whatever the actual merit of the charge, Bergman's 50s films could certainly be said to be very neat too in that same respect. - Anyway, i look forward to watching it again tonight and digging deeper into it.